


How Am I To Stop Myself?

by Anonymous



Series: A Father and a Son [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: But Jughead wants it, Drunk Jughead, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Smut, underage as Jughead is 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 09:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: FP wants Jughead.In ways a parent probably shouldn't.





	How Am I To Stop Myself?

**Author's Note:**

> found this pairing slightly lacking:

FP hasn't always been like this. 

He grew up liking girls, being popular, he was in a band, for god's sakes. He's had one night stands like you couldn't believe, and there was a moment where he loved his wife. Truly, truly loved her. In fact, he kept loving her even when she packed up half his family and took them away. 

She tries to take Jughead too, but his boy stares at her, only nine years old but still so tough around the edges, just like his dad. FP stares at him, awed, tears in his blurry eyes as his little boy wipes his nose and sniffles up at her. 

" _No,_ mommy. I'm not leaving. You shouldn't leave. You can't just give up! Not on family!" 

FP stares at his wife, a vicious sort of victory on his face, as she chokes on tears and gets in the car and leaves. And then Jughead comes over to him, mumbling "daddy" into his shirt, and FP holds him close, the only precious thing still left in his life, and thinks; I'm going to protect this. 

Even then, it isn't an inappropriate love. 

It's still fatherly, it's still...it's still okay. 

But slowly, slowly, he watches Jughead grow up. 

Seventeen, and through drunken eyes it's easy to admit that his son can be pretty, pretty like a  _girl,_ with his soft eyelashes and floppy hair. But he's got man in him too, FP's seen him throw punches, seen him with black eyes. His son is scrappy, perfectly capable, knows how to survive. He's taken care of his old man more times than he can count. 

It takes a lot, a helluva lot, but he manages to clean up his act. 

He's just finished cleaning up the small living room, he even dusted, when the the door pops open. 

Everyone else in this neighbourhood knows to knock on the door at the place of residence of the Serpent King, so he knows it's his son. He turns to see Jughead standing there, and there's a small smile on his son's face, for the first time in a long time. FP takes him in, he's wearing his Serpent's jacket- and there's a small thrill there, because that used to be FP's first Serpent's jacket, and dark jeans, his crown beanie on top of his dark hair. His son, Prince of the Serpents. A small jolt of arousal rushes through him. "Hey dad," comes the voice, deep, but not as deep as his father's. He sounds fond. "I was thinking..." he clears his throat "of moving back, maybe?"

FP smiles, wide and honest, and Jughead laughs. "Of course, son," he gestures to their little home. "Welcome back." 

They hug laughing, but it quickly becomes heartfelt and emotional. Jughead buries his face in his father's chest, and, and FP wraps his arms tight around his son. His hair smells like shampoo, and he feels so small in his arms. "I missed you," Jughead whispers, so low he almost can't hear it, and FP kisses the top of his head.

"I missed you too, son. But we're together again, and everything's gonna be okay from here on out."

Things are  _not_ okay from here on out.

In terms of not getting arrested, staying clear of the police and trouble, things are fine. 

In terms of his ever-growing attraction to his son, things are definitely not fine. 

Because he's now not drunk all the time, he's very aware, incredibly aware of his son's movements. He wakes up in the morning, and gets dressed, ready to go and work down at Fred's construction site, sipping his black coffee early in the morning, when Jughead stumbles out of bed. FP tries not to look at his son's bare chest, the smooth, supple skin there. His sleep rumpled hair, hatless for once, and in disarray and that is partly cute, partly fucking irresistible. His underwear low on his hips, and yawning. 

"Bacon?" Jughead asks sleepily, leaning against the kitchen counter. His voice has a hopeful lilt, and FP flicks his forehead. 

"Yeah, there's bacon, sleepy head," he says, pushing a plate towards him, watching over the rim of his coffee cup as Jughead picks up strips of the crispy bacon, biting into it and moaning like sin. He can just about tolerate it, until his son starts licking the grease off his fingers, and then he has to go. He definitely has to go. "I'll see you later tonight, yeah?" He says gruffly, picking up his coat and draining the rest of his coffee. It scalds his throat but he doesn't even feel it.

"I'll pick us up dinner from Pop's," Jughead agrees, munching away. 

FP, because he thinks he can get away with it, leans over and kisses his son's forehead. He worries for a moment, if he's overstepped the mark, but Jughead just smiles, quietly pleased, leaning into his touch and patting his arm. 

"Hope you're not going soft on me dad," he teases, and FP thinks about the straining erection in his jeans.

"Definitely not." He murmurs, leaving. 

Work is a welcome reprieve. He works hard, harder than he's ever worked, and he lugs more than he's ever lugged. Fred brings him a bottle of water, eyebrow arched, and FP sets down the cement block, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I have a lot of tension to work off," he says honestly, sipping his water as Fred huffs a laugh. 

"Gotta be good though, huh? Having Jughead home? He settling in alright?" 

FP nods "seems to be. Thanks Fred, for uh...picking up my slack these past few months. If I could compensate ya, I would-"

"No, no, FP," Fred seems disgusted by the thought "You know Jughead, he's like a son to me, a brother to Archie. I'll always look out for him, like you would my boy, right?" 

FP nods, grateful, and decides to show his gratitude through hard work. He sets down his water, and gets back to it. 

 

When he gets home that evening, at 5pm, Jughead isn't back yet. FP figures he's probably doing some writing at Pop's, maybe even hanging out with his friends, normal things, normal kid things that kids should be doing. He showers, sighing, and when he heads out, Jughead's just coming in, holding a bag of food from Pop's. 

"Hey Dad," Jughead grins, and the sight of him takes FP's breath away. 

He's wearing a black jumper, with his black Serpent's jacket, and black jeans. And there is something- something visceral about seeing his son proud to wear the jacket, the jacket of a gang that FP helped to create. That his son is helping change and maintain. His beanie is slightly askew from the motorbike helmet, and he rightens it after setting the white bag on the table. "Four burgers and a gigantic portion of fries," Jughead beams, and FP laughs, sitting down and pulling the bag towards him, emptying the contents onto the table, sorting the portions. 

Jughead peels off his jacket, hanging it up on the coat rack beside his dad's, and FP watches him look at the two jackets for a moment, a content look on his face. He knows how it feels, being part of something that you're proud of. 

Jughead collapses onto the sofa opposite him, reaching for a burger, and kicking his feet onto the table, dangerously close to the fries. FP doesn't have the heart to say anything. Besides, it's not like he cares anyway. "Not that I could say anything," Jughead begins, mouthful, "as a conscientious objector. But Joaquin and Kevin? Is that legit or part of a much more nefarious plot?" 

FP remains silent through his burger, and Jughead nods, laughing. 

"I'm sure I'll be able to suss it out. Haven't you heard? I'm a regular detective these days." 

He laughs "that doesn't surprise me. You're still writing though, right?" Jughead nods, shyly. "Good, because that's...you've got real talent there Jug, you don't wanna lose that." 

"I know, dad," he murmurs, bashfully, stuffing his face with a burger. 

They spend the rest of the evening talking, about the Serpents, about strategy, about Archie and Veronica, and then watching television. It's in the middle of some late night comedy show, that FP turns to Jughead to say it's probably time they both hit the hay- though it's been a long time since he's been setting bed times, when he sees Jughead passed out on the couch. 

He smiles softly to himself, turning off the television and collecting the empty wrappers as quietly as he can. He throws them in the bin, and then flips off the main light, keeping the small lamp on. Jughead's breathing softly, he doesn't snore, he's never been the kind. Far too quiet, far too anxious to disturb anybody when he was younger that he'd trained himself right out of it. 

His head is tipped back, and his neck looks positively biteable. FP swallows, taking a small step nearer to him. Jughead still has his shoes on. He can remember a thousand different instances when Jughead had helped a drunk FP out of his shoes, so he could sleep more comfortably, that's not...that's not weird. He can do that.

He kneels beside his son, and unlaces the converse. They're beaten and old, and FP feels another pang of guilt. His son deserves nicer things. He eases them off his feet, eyes continuously darting up to his son's face, but Jughead remains fast asleep. He tugs off both shoes and sets them neatly by the couch. He stands up, and then his eyes catch on the belt around his son's waist. His mouth goes dry, but he's reaching out even before he can think of it. 

He undoes the buckle slowly, with deft fingers. FP realises with another lurch that this is his belt, and now he wants Jughead always wearing his clothes. He pulls it off slowly, and it slides against the denim till it's free, and FP realises he was holding his breath. He rolls it up neatly and places it on the table. 

Right, he should go now.

Now's the time.

Except he can see Jughead's jeans are fastened by a button, that could be- too tight, surely. It's not weird, it's okay. It's just a father making his son comfortable, it's alright. He leans forward, unbuttons the jeans quickly, and his knuckle brushes his son's flat stomach, the skin is warm and enticing, but he pulls himself away, taking a breath.

He turns, towards his bedroom, and hears Jughead shuffle and sag further into the couch, still mostly asleep. 

"Thanks dad," he murmurs, and FP's heart squeezes tight in his chest, before he goes to bed. 

 

A few days later, as he's working at Fred's site, he spots the flash of two serpents jacket's not working. 

The only Serpents that aren't working at Fred's site are the kids, and he stretches his neck to see if it's Jughead. He spots the beanie, and steps forward, squinting his eyes to see the two loan figures walking over the rubble and dirt that's been dug up. It's Sweet Pea, FP discerns eventually, and him and Jughead are laughing together, shoving each other, before they disappear into the distance. 

For all his loner tendencies, Jughead has good friends, and that makes FP happy. 

That's a good, fatherly instinct, he thinks. Normal. Not weird or inappropriate at all. 

When he gets home, to a voice message from Jughead saying that he's heading out with Archie and a few of the guys for some sort of party " _And don't think I'm into parties now, Archie has completely roped me into this."_ Says the message, FP just chuckles, and settles in for a long night to himself. He considers going down to the Wyrm, finding a woman to ease some of his frustration- it wouldn't be difficult, he knows he's still got it, maybe even a guy, young looking, with dark hair, so if he fucks him in the dark he can pretend it's Jughead. 

He decides against it in the end, simply because he doesn't trust himself to go to a bar and not drink, and he doesn't want to let Jughead down. That's a benefit, he supposes, of the inappropriate lust, it makes him want to impress his son more. Surely that doesn't make him evil? 

It's late, and he's half asleep on the sofa, watching some old rerun on tv, when he's jolted back to awareness by his phone ringing. He answers it quickly when Jughead's name appears, and frowns against the noise he can hear. 

 _"Mr Jones?"_ Comes a voice, that is definitely not Jughead. It sounds like Archie. 

"Yeah?" He's standing up now, assuming the worst. 

" _Could you come pick Jughead up, he's-"_ Archie's laughing, he sounds a little tipsy too, so FP decides it's probably not the most dangerous scenario. "- _he's a bit drunk. We're at Fission, in town? Is that-"_ he hiccups a little " _-alright?"_

He hears his son's voice in the background then, slurred and merry. " _Issat my phone?"_

FP is already out the door. "I'll be there in ten." He says, hanging up. He'x anxious the whole drive there. He's never seen Jughead drunk. He'd been absent for most of the teenage years, but he doesn't think Jughead is the drinking type anyway, not after what he's seen his dad dissolve to. It was probably a way to cope with the sociality of it all. He decides not to worry about the drinking, it's just Jughead being a kid, he's not gonna end up like his old man. If it ever happens again, then he'll talk to him.

By the time he gets there, there are a few other parents rounding up their children. He spots Jughead arguing loudly with a tall, muscular kid, who's a jock if FP ever saw one. Archie's currently vomiting behind them, and FP heads towards them.

"Watch it, Jones!" The guy jeers, towering over him. "Wouldn't want you to get depressed and blow up the school-"

"I'm amazed you can string a sentence together, Reggie," Jughead swears, swaying on his feet, "since you're normally so-"

Reggie shoves him, drunk himself, and FP races forward, pushing the kid away. "Back off." He growls dangerously, and this Reggie must recognise the look on his face, because he stumbles away. He turns towards his son, whose eyes are hazed over, and checks on Archie, who informs him his dad is on his way. FP drags him to stand over by a raven-haired girl, who he assumes is Veronica by the expensive dress she's wearing, before guiding his own son towards the truck. 

Jughead is especially malleable in his hands, letting his dad take complete control. FP manages not to do anything inappropriate since there are so many other people around, mostly drunk, but enough of a crowd to make him act like a father, rather than an admirer. Jughead's flushed pink and FP isn't surprised, since he's wearing his jumper and his jacket, and his beanie. FP snorts a little, as he buckles him in, his son obviously didn't know just how hot nightclubs can get. 

He starts the engine and Jughead essentially dozes for most of the way back, making small snuffling sounds here and there that have FP turning to glance at him, but then immediately turns away, because the amber flashes on his face from the passing street lamps give him a type of ethereal beauty that FP doesn't think he can handle if he looks at him for too long. 

When he gets to the trailer, it's past midnight, and the night air is cool on his skin, prickling, as he goes over to the passenger seat, helping his son out. Jughead smiles and leans into his arms. 

"Hi dad," he grins, a little lopsided and adorable. FP flicks his nose. 

"Hi, son," he snorts, "come on, Jug, in we go," 

As soon as they're inside, with the door locked, FP tries to control his urges. He decides Jughead should probably have the big bed tonight, so pushes him towards the bedroom. Jughead's giggling to himself, and FP's realising his son is an adorable drunk. He's decided to get this done quickly, so he can banish himself onto the couch and away from the vulnerable piece of sex on legs, in front of him. He tugs off the jacket, easily enough, as Jughead stands there happily. He tugs the jumper off over the top of his head, and the hat comes off with it. 

FP's breath hitches. Jughead's hair flops into his forehead, voluminous and mussed attractively. His chest is bare, and appealing in the lowlight, and FP quickly gathers the hat off the floor, and places it carefully on the nightstand. He kneels down to get Jughead's shoes. 

"Sit on the bed, Jug," he says softly, a sick thrill shooting down him when he obeys immediately. Obedient, adorable, if FP were even slightly tipsy, he doesn't think he'd be able to resist. He pulls off the same, threadbare shoes, and goes for the jeans, braver and bolder this time. He knows Jughead probably won't remember this in the morning, and doesn't need to worry about it. He tugs the jeans down as efficiently as he can, and his boy's underwear shifts down a little with the movement, revealing sharp and jutting hip bones. FP tries not to look, and he pulls the jeans off, folding them. "I'm gonna get you some water," he manages, voice hoarse "and then you can sleep, alright bud?" 

Jughead doesn't speak, eyelids lidded. 

In the kitchen, FP splashes his face with water, trying to cool himself down. Before he grabs a glass and fills it up. 

But when he turns around, Jughead is standing in front of him, naked bar his underwear, looking soft and vulnerable. 

"Dad," he whispers, and FP sets the water down on the counter. Watching, awed, as Jughead pads across the linoleum towards him, till their chests are nearly touching, and he can smell the sweet alcohol on his son's breath. He fists his hands at his sides, closing his eyes tightly, but he can still breath him in. The alcohol and his son, both forbidden, so enticing. And then he jerks, as Jughead's smooth cheek presses against his stubble, and he can feel the heat of his boy's breath on his ear. He's still taller than Jug, broader and stronger too, and Jughead's mouth only comes to about his chin. " _Dad,"_ he says again, like a caress, more seductive this time. 

FP's entire mouth is salivating, and he enjoys the feeling of his son's cheek against his face, not moving closer, but not away either. 

With a resigned move, he places a hand on Jughead's bare arm, intent to push him away, when Jughead outright moans at the contact. FP's eyes flit to his son's face, his eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted in pleasure, and his neck is completely bared. FP can't look away from that long, pale expanse. 

The desire to lean down and bite, and kiss, and suck is so much that he barely stops himself from moving. His control is a very, very fine thread. But then Jughead pushes closer, so they're pressed completely together, knees to chest, and his erection presses into his son's hip. He's so hard, he's aching, probably dripping in his underwear.

Screw it, he thinks, just screw it. And he slides his hand into Jughead's hair, tugging his head away, baring that neck even more, leaning down and  _attacking._

He bites hard, hard enough to sting, but never to draw blood, sucking hard on the junction between shoulder and neck, just above his collar bone, pausing only to pepper kisses up and down that tantalising arch. But he always returns to the one spot, already reddening. Jughead tastes of paper and coffee, sweet and addictive, and he can hear his son moaning wantonly into his ear, arching into the touch. He fists his fingers tighter into Jughead's hair, and his son's own hands are clutching his shoulders, leaning into him. 

FP can feel his son's erection against his thigh, and pushes his leg between his son's, and Jughead shudders, grinding his hips just a little. 

It's the strength of his desire for Jughead to arrive in his pants, that jolts FP out of it. He pushes Jughead away, almost violently, and his son stumbles, looking lost and confused, neck glistening wet, and red and blotchy, underwear tenting. His hair tangled on one side. He looks so lost, so untethered, that FP steps forward, catching his arm. His own lips are slicked wet, but he fights against it. "It's okay," he reassures, "it's okay, time for bed, alright, Jug?"

Jughead nods, getting guided towards the bed. He flops down into it, and FP tucked him in, kissing his forehead.

He rushes into the shower then, and arrives in record time against the wall. He lets the cold water drench him, eyes squeezed tight, still panting with desire.

This was a mistake, he thinks. Because now he knows what it feels like, to have his son aching and needy, moaning in his grasp- FP's not sure he's going to be able to resist again. 

 

The morning is hard. 

Jughead staggers out of bed with a violent headache, to which FP gives him greasy food and an aspirin. "Thanks, dad," he mumbles, he's tugged on a plaid shirt, and some pyjama pants, the shirt's undone, and his hair's slightly tamed. 

FP smiles at him, knowingly. "Paying for your sins the morning after, huh, Jug?"

Jughead groans, massaging his temples. "I'm never drinking again." He beseeches earnestly, and FP nods; proud.

"Atta boy." His eyes drift to the big, dark blue hickey on Jughead's neck. It makes a very primal part of him feel innately satisfied. He gestures to it. "Betty give ya that?" He asks, testing the waters.

Jughead flushes beet red, covering his face. "I don't even know. Drinking is now my number one enemy."

FP reaches over, because he can't help himself, and pushes a finger against it. Jughead winces a little, but FP can tell there's a hint of pleasure there. 

"Whoever it was, they're feisty."

"Who isn't these days," Jughead rolls his eyes. FP breathes a sigh of relief. He's got away with it. 

 

It's getting harder and harder to resist his son. 

So he does the only thing he can think to do. Books him a bus ticket to Toledo. 

Jughead bursts into the trailer, radiating anger and goes right up to FP who's currently standing in the bedroom, picking out Jughead's clothes and tossing them into the open suitcase on the floor. His son stares at him; furious and betrayed. "What the hell dad?" He hisses, waving the ticket in the air. It's an obnoxious yellow, and FP just shrugs, returning to grabbing clothes. "Dad! Dad!" Jughead goes up to him, and shoves him away from the wardrobe "Stop it! What the hell is this?!"

"It's a bus ticket, Jug," FP says, resigned. 

Jughead's eyes are watering, but his mouth is set in a hard line. "I know it's a bus ticket." He whispers, voice seething. "Why? Are you just gonna- what? Ship me off?"

FP closes his eyes in pain, shaking his head. "Jughead, Riverdale...it's not the place for you, trust me. It's way too dangerous, I mean, look at the stuff you're writing about in that novel of yours. Murder, adultery, theft, corruption- that's always gonna be what you write about in Riverdale. I want you to have a better chance than that-"

"Bullshit!" Jughead roars, his voice shaking the walls of the trailer. "That's bullshit! There's murder and corruption everywhere- I can't get on a bus and escape it! Why don't you tell the truth?" He takes another step forward, over the half full suitcase, and shoves his dad again. FP makes no move to touch him back, keeps his voice steady and quiet. 

"Jug-"

"You're shipping me off because you don't  _want me_ anymore, is that it?" 

FP's heart hurts. 

"You think you can just send me away and you can devolve back into a drunken mess, is that it? Because that's not going to happened, dad! I'm not leaving! Riverdale is my home! If you want me to move out, I will, I don't need you-"

No. No, Jughead can't stay in Riverdale. He has to leave, otherwise FP will never stop trying to get him back. "You're getting on that bus, Jughead." He says, raising his voice a little. He sounds authoritative, and like a father. "You're getting on that bus because I am your father and I know what's best for you." 

Jughead looks away like he can't stand the sight of him. His chest is heaving, and FP reaches out.

"It's for the best, Jug-"

Jughead slaps his hand away, but his voice is stubborn and determined. "I'm not leaving."

"Yes, yo-"

Jughead shoves him back against the wall, and presses an elbow across his chest. His grasp is firm, but FP could wrestle out of it easily if he wanted to. He's always been stronger than Jughead. He doesn't push back though, doesn't trust himself to touch unnecessarily, so stays against the wall. Trying to look bored and done with the conversation. "I'm not leaving." Jughead hisses again. "You can buy me a ticket, but you can't make me get on a bus unless you drag my dead body onto it." They're so close now, Jughead's cool breath fanning over his face. FP tries not to breathe. 

There's a beat of silence, where Jughead obviously expects him to say something, but he doesn't. Too focused on not breathing in his son's scent. It's intoxicating. It'll make him lose control. 

After more silence, FP turns his head to look at his son's face, and finds his contemplative stare fixed on him. He arches an eyebrow, about to say something hopefully cutting enough that Jughead will want to never see him again, but then Jughead's lips are on his own, and it's like electricity firing down his spine. He thinks, for a horrifying moment, that his control has given way, and he's kissing his son, but then he realises, as a second shock, that Jughead's the one pushing into him. 

God.  _God._ It feels fantastic. FP vaguely has the faculty to think that this is wrong. That this should stop. They're both messed up, to want each other like this and they should be separated. 

He thinks all of that, and doesn't give a single damn. 

He kisses back, and can feel Jughead's surprise. He slides his hands down his son's back, over the swell of his ass, and squeezes tightly. Jughead moans into his mouth, and FP can feel the vibrations on his skin. He's already getting hard. Jughead's hands both fist into his hair, tugging hard, and FP hoists him up, hands firm on his behind, and Jughead wraps his legs around his hips. 

It grinds their cocks together, and FP realises they're both hard. 

He can lift Jughead easily, and carries him towards the bed, collapsing down onto it, hovering above his son. When they pull apart for air, Jughead is panting and pushing at his dad's t-shirt. FP helps and tugs it off. Cursing as Jughead's hands trail over his bare chest. Feeling his son's hands on him- it's bliss. 

"Fuck, Jug." FP whispers, pulling Jughead up to push off his jacket and throw it into the corner. "Fuck."

"Wanted this-" Jughead pants, pulling his own jumper over his head. "-So long."

Fuck.  _Fuck._ FP's harder than ever, and he stands to kick off his shoes, watching as Jughead does the same, shimmying out of his jeans. FP kicks off his own jeans, before leaning down and tugging down Jughead's underwear. 

Jughead flushes red as his bare cock is exposed to the cool air. It's rock hard, and curled against his stomach, and FP kisses his hip, scratching his stubble against it. 

"Dad," Jughead breathes, and then FP leans down and licks a stripe up his son's cock. Jughead jackknives off the bed at the sensation, and FP realises with a sick glee that he's the only person to ever do this to his son. He pins his hips down in his hands, before taking him entirely into his mouth. Jughead's moaning in pleasure, crying out and scrabbling his hands against the sheets for purchase. FP thinks he could listen to him moan all day. 

But then Jughead's tugging at his shoulders, warning him that'll he arrive too fast and he doesn't want to yet, and then they're kissing again. FP's got one hand beside Jughead's head, holding himself up, his knees between his son's spread legs, and his other hand and scratching down Jughead's torso, stopping to play with his nipples which pebble under his touch. Jughead whimpers into his mouth, tossing his head back and forth in restless pleasure. 

"Sensitive, huh?" FP teases playfully, rubbing his coarse palm over the stiff nipple and Jughead can't reply, back arching to get more contact. 

It's heaven. It's a type of heaven, playing his son like a harp, plucking his strings to make him sing, FP can't believe he ever held out, ever denied himself this. And then Jughead's reaching down, and sliding his hands into his dad's underwear, finding his leaking member with deft fingers and stroking it once. FP shakes above him, arm quaking. His eyes flutter close, as Jughead finds a rhythm, pumping loosely, and FP can't hold himself up anymore. 

He spins onto his back, taking Jughead with him. The teenager yelps, before finding his position, straddling his dad, both his hands flat on his dad's chest. 

He leans down, kissing his dad once, before moving a little, and FP swears loudly, as he feels his cock catch on Jughead's hole through their underwear. Jughead looks down, smiling coyly, before repeating the movement, grinding his hips down, and FP swears again, louder this time. 

"Fuck boy," he hisses "don't tease your old man. He can't take it."

Jughead grins, and they both remove their underwear, kicking it away and Jughead reaches his arm above where FP can see, but he hears a drawer opening, and then Jughead's holding a bottle of lube. FP realises with a swear that that's probably been there for ages, and he's never seen it. His son's lube. 

"You play with yourself?" He asks, groaning, the thought making precum dribble from his tip. Jughead nods, squirting some onto his fingers. 

"A few toys, not much," his son admits, and his fingers go behind his back, and his face changes.

FP realises he's fingering himself above him.

Jesus Christ. 

He could come just from watching his son's face. Jughead's so small, so lithe on top of him. One hand flat on FP's broad chest for balance, legs tucked on either side of FP's hips, spread wide, and when he leans down, his neck comes perfectly to FP's mouth, where the red hickey is still visible. 

FP reaches for the lube himself, squirting it onto his fingers, and reaching down to his son's hole. He slides in one finger along with the two his son already has in there, and Jughead groans, eyes fluttering shut. Fuck, FP thinks. He's so tight. So tight around even this one finger. Jughead removes his own, using both hands to brace himself against his dad's shoulders as FP fucks him with one, two, then three fingers. Jughead whining and panting above him, fucking himself back onto the large, thick fingers. FP fingers his prostate, and rubs against it almost obsessively, until Jughead is begging,  _begging_ for more. 

He lubes up his cock quickly, movements desperate, and swallows, looking up to meet his son's lust-filled eyes. "Condom?" He manages, and Jughead shakes his head adamantly. 

"No. Wanna feel you cum inside me."

Jesus Christ. FP has to tighten his hold on the base of his penis to stop from arriving right there. Jughead positions himself as FP holds his penis in place, and then with no preamble, Jughead sinks down completely onto it. 

FP lets out a deep growl at the feeling of his son's tight heat convulsing around him. His hands are tight on Jughead's waist, and he looks up as his son arches his back, still for a moment as he adjusts. And then he's grinding, moving slowly. and FP helps lift him up, and drop him back down, until they're both crying out with pleasure.

His cock is hitting Jughead's prostate every time, and he sits up, wrapping his arms around his son, tight on the small of his back as they writhe against each other. They're pressed flushed together every inch of them, and Jughead's digging his nails into his dad's shoulder blades. FP hopes it scars for a few days. As he bites into his sons' neck, renewing the hickey, he keeps thrusting upwards, and Jughead is sobbing from pleasure into his ear, bouncing desperately.

"Yeah, you like that?" FP whispers, as Jughead moans louder "like bouncing on your daddy's cock?" 

Jughead mewls his assent, unable to form words as they rock together, faster and faster. "Daddy- daddy-" Jughead chokes "I'm gonna-"

"Do it," FP groans, orders, into his son's neck, glistening with spit and sweat. "Now, without a hand to your cock."

Jughead does, from those words, and it dribbles hot and sticky between their stomachs, and FP follows immediately after, arriving deep inside his son, and he collapses onto the bed, and Jughead collapses on top of him. His son nuzzles into his chest, eyes already drifting shut, as FP strokes his fingertips up and down his back, still buried inside him. 

"'m not leavin'," Jughead whispers around a yawn, and FP smiles, trailing his fingers down to feel where they're connected. 

"No," he says fondly, his own eyes closing. "I guess not." 

**Author's Note:**

> if you leave a comment, i might write more who knows


End file.
